


Need You Tonight

by EyeofMazikeen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Coat fetish, Greg doesn't get it, Ianto is adorable, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Sherlock Saves The Day, jack is persistent, m/m/m/m fantasy, the stopwatch even makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeofMazikeen/pseuds/EyeofMazikeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started out as a askbox fix on Tumblr devolved into insomnia-fueled New Year's porn involving two of my favorite shows and four of my favorite pretties.  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need You Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts).



It had been a rough week.  Sure, the Grimson case had finally been solved.  But not before there had been two more break ins, a kidnapping, an alleyway brawl, and a very near miss involving Greg Lestrade’s abdomen and the business end of a butterfly knife.  All of which had required more than copious amounts of paperwork.  Having finally filed away the last of the necessary post-incident reports, all the beleaguered DI wanted was to enjoy a quiet pint or two down at his local haunt.  

Getting to the pub was easy enough, as was the first pint.  That one went down smoothly, completely uninterrupted.  The second pint came immediately on the heels of the first, unexpected and delivered with a knowing grin from the bartender along with a nod to the end of the bar.

Perched on a stool sat a rather handsome man in an impressive grey coat, who gave Greg a rakish smile and a tip of his own half full glass.  Greg gave a half hearted grin in return, returning the nod and the tip of the glass.  He’d given a press conference earlier that afternoon, fortunately before it looked like he’d been completely put through the wringer.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone had recognized him and bought him a pint simply for being the Yard’s favorite mouthpiece.  Turning back to his own drink, Lestrade enjoyed a few more sips in silence before

“Fancy another drink, handsome?”  The american accent went quite well with the smile that appeared to always be at least somewhat cocky.  Blue grey eyes sparkled with intelligence and no small bit of humor as they appraised the exhausted DI.  All Greg could manage in response was a halfhearted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m tired, sore, and not the least bit interested in whatever you’re shilling, mate.”  The perplexed look that crossed the man’s face was almost worth the effort it took to brush him off.  To be fair, with a face like that the man probably didn’t get dismissed very often.  But the last thing that Greg needed was to listen to some overenthusiastic, young American military type spout off for a few hours about all the ways that England in general and The Yard in specific could improve their crime statistics by taking a few pointers from the ‘states.

“Ah.  Let’s try this again.  Hello.”  For the second time, it struck Greg how well the man’s accent complimented the row of startlingly white teeth that the stranger’s rakish grin exposed.  Well.  At least the bastard had charm in spades.  And the way he said the word ‘hello’ made it sound more like a pick up line than a greeting.  A tired sort of realization settled over the DI, who let out a small sigh that was as much from exhaustion as it was understanding.

Oh.  Right then.  This wouldn’t be the first time some young, cocky prat had tried to lead him along.  After all, Angelo’s wasn’t quite known as a gay bar, but it was certainly noted as ‘friendly’ in certain circles.  It had enough of a reputation that occasionally Greg would get some interest from the other patrons.  Though some were genuine, the crowd itself was just young enough that about half the time those overtures ended up being just some young stud looking to bait the greying, worn out old man for a few laughs and a free pint from his mates.  While this man looked a bit older than the usual crowd that liked to try and pull that crap, he was certainly more than good looking enough to be one of their ilk.  Certainly too good looking to be interested in Greg for anything more than the DI’s personality, and they hadn’t been talking so that was right out.

“Really not interested.”  If the dismissal was a bit more gruff than necessary, well, Greg could hardly blame himself.  It had been a shit day on top of a shit week.  The look on the man’s face was almost puzzled, as if Lestrade had given him the reaction he least expected.  Brown brows knit together momentarily, a look of sheer bewilderment making him look absolutely charming.  It was all the Lestrade could do not to shake his head to rid himself of the thought.  After all, there was only one place this was headed, and it certainly wasn’t back to the loo for a quick exchange of fellatio and possibly phone numbers.

“I think you’ve got me all wrong,” the stranger continued, sliding easily onto the stool next to Greg.  The wool of his greatcoat rustled as he settled, and Greg caught the beginnings of a flutter just below the pit of his stomach.  Fantastic.  Just what he needed.  It was bad enough to be the butt of a joke, but did his body have to go and start betraying him too?  It was probably just some sort of pavlovian response to the coat.  God knew Sherlock’s Belstaff drove him out of his mind.  Fantastic.  The arrogant sod had caused him to develop a coat fetish.  With a grumble, Lestrade ignored the persistent man at his side and took another sip of his pint.

“I’m just looking to share a drink.  Not that I’d be opposed to more,” the man added with another one of those dazzling grins.  It was all Greg could do not to roll his eyes in response.  Really.  That prince charming crap might work on men his own age, but Lestrade was certainly old enough to know better.

“Right.  Look.  Normally I’d play along and at least help get you that free drink from your mates, but I’m dead tired.”  Despite his words, Greg sipped gratefully at his pint.  No sense in letting free beer go to waste.  And since he had to put up with such clumsy, insincere overtures he’d certainly earned it.

“A man of business!  I can respect that.  So tell me, is that your way of saying you’d rather skip all the pretense and get right to the main event?”  The laughter in the stranger’s voice was warm and not entirely insincere.  And fuck, that smile really was gorgeous.  That, or exhaustion had pretty much worn the barriers of Greg’s better judgement quite thin.  Or it was that fucking coat.  Catching himself, Greg squared his shoulders and shot his seatmate a questioning scowl, which earned him another confused look.

“I’m pretty sure I know what your aim here is, so why not?”  The laugh that accompanied the DI’s words was a bit less bitter than he’d expected.  Something about the man’s charm, looks, and somewhat befuddled nature was slowly eroding Lestrade’s foul mood, little by little.  “Why don’t you tell me what I have to do to be able to go my way in peace while still making sure you and your mates get a relatively satisfactory end to your little experiment?”

“Well, normally I’d suggest that I’d buy you a few drinks and we’d head back to yours.”  The man leaned in, his shoulder brushing Lestrade’s as he brought his mouth close to the DI’s ear.  As the man drew close Greg caught his scent; earthy and rich with just a hint of citrus.  Goddamn, that must be some expensive fucking cologne.  Still, it matched the damn fine coat, so that wasn’t entirely unexpected.  Rich young american, probably in London on holiday.  Couldn’t he find something better to do than bother an exhausted off duty copper?

“But if you’re in a rush I’d settle for a quick snog in the back, or if you’d rather I’d be happy to suck you off in the bathroom.”  At least the man got points for persistence.  A touch of heat rushed to Lestrade’s cheeks, as well as traveling a bit further south as he briefly considered exactly what that lush mouth would look like wrapped around his prick.

Fuck, he was tired enough that his body couldn’t tell the difference between a tease and a genuine offer.  A quick scrub of his hand through his short silver hair helped displace the rather enticing image.  Lestrade knew damn well he could make a complete fool of himself, he certainly didn’t need any help from too-forward Americans, no matter how attractive they were.  Greg didn’t bother risking another glance at his seatmate incase that warm feeling started to stir again.  Instead, he focused all his attention on his half-finished pint.

“Look mate, this is all good fun I’m sure.  But really, I think you’ve done more than enough.  Surely your mates owe you that drink by now, yeah?”  This time his resistance was met with a somewhat irritated huff, and Greg allowed himself a small smirk.  There was some small comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one being irritated.

“I don’t know what mates you’re talking about,” the stranger insisted, confusion and frustration warring on his expressive face.  “And as for the rest.  Well, the only thing in this bar that I’m interested in drinking right now is you.”  That particular turn of phrase earned his seatmate a small shudder, the words sliding down Lestrade’s spine like the lightest brush of fingertips.  God.  It was hard to blame anyone for stringing him along.  He really was an easy fucking mark.  

Momentarily unable to say anything in response, Greg once again raised his pint glass in an attempt to drown the conflicting feelings of frustration and arousal that were warring just below his navel.

‘You’re more than interested, handsome.”  His seatmate punctuated his words with a light brush of an impressively large hand across the back of Lestrade’s fingers where they curled around his pint glass.  The touch sent a heated pulse right to the DI’s groin.  God, something about his exhaustion, that damned coat, his cocky smile, and the fucking smell of that bastard had Greg’s wires all crossed.  Because fuck, getting led on had no right to be that fucking sexy.

“And believe me, the feeling is mutual.  So tell you what.  Let’s me and you head back to the back, so I can show you firsthand that I’m quite serious about ”  That did get Greg to look up.  A brash, cocky smile greeted him, plastered across that damnably handsome face as if that’s what those full lips were made to do.  Well, that and...  possibly other things.  Shaking his head, Lestrade mustered what energy he could, turning to face his seatmate and shoot him firmly down.

“Now look here - “  Greg managed to get just a few words in before he heard familiar footfalls and felt a familiar presence approach him from behind on the left.  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Let me,” a rumbling baritone interjected, as one long fingered hand clasped onto Greg’s leather-clad shoulder.  Lestrade inwardly winced.  Great.  Because one cocky, handsome, gloriously-coated bastard wasn’t enough for life to throw at him in an evening.  Oh no.  Of course Sherlock had decided to show up at the pub as well.  And he only did that when he was looking to find Greg, usually for their somewhat routine post-case shag.  It was a sort of routine they’d fallen into that neither was overly concerned about defining, especially when endorphins ran high. Just wonderful.  Now he’d have to listen to Sherlock go on about this whole debacle before and possibly while he fucked him into the mattress.

“How dense can you possibly be?”  Sherlock positively bristled with impatience, turning a sharp aquamarine glare onto Greg that the DI reacted to with a look of surprise.  “Detective Inspector, I do believe that this fine looking man has offered at least three times to suck you off, rather sincerely I might add.  And that’s just in the last five minutes.  He’s about ready to tear his hair out from frustration you oblivious git.”  Greg’s eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline as he tried to refute Sherlock’s claim.  Nothing but an inarticulate sputter came out, though fortunately (or unfortunately, as far as the DI was concerned), the American picked up where Sherlock left off.

“Well, tall dark and gorgeous here’s got me figured out,” the stranger offered, flickering an appreciative gaze over Sherlock’s lean form before glancing towards the back of the pub.  “Though for all your cleverness  it seems that you’re keen to move things along for your own reasons.”

“I know you’re from out of town,” Sherlock delivered smoothly, eyes following the stranger’s gaze back in the direction that he had come from.  That intense blue gaze settled on the well dressed, dark haired young man that had been watching Jack hit on Lestrade with no small amount of joy in his grey eyes.  “So I’m more than happy to take care of your...  friend...  while the two of you go and get things sorted out.”

“O-oh.”  It was the only sound Greg found himself capable of making.  Hell.  Sherlock’s aquamarine glare was both questioning and impatient, flickering uncertainly from Greg to the young man in the back of the pub and back.  Well.  It wouldn’t be the first time that Sherlock had pulled someone and they’d both come home with Greg.  But it would certainly be the first time they’d pulled a couple, though that appeared to be largely due to Sherlock’s intervention.  Greg gave the curly haired detective a knowing smile and a quick nod.  If it was what Sherlock wanted, then it was what Sherlock was going to get.  Lestrade had proven himself quite useless in resisting the man over the course of the last several months.  He simply didn’t have enough fortitude to withstand the constant pressure of Sherlock Fucking Holmes, and found that he rarely had any desire to even put up a cursory fight.  Especially when the brilliant bloody bastard was so good at bringing Greg around to his way of thinking with those violinist’s hands and cupid’s bow mouth.

Noting Greg’s acquiescence, Sherlock smiled smugly before turning back to the young man in the back of the bar, beckoning him forward with long fingers.  The younger man rose gracefully and strode over, brushing invisible wrinkles out of his sharp black suit jacket as he joined the the three men at the bar.

“Anyway.  We’ve been having a discussion.  My friend here thinks that his partner can easily suck you to completion in half the time it would take you to return the favor.”  The smaller stranger had the decency to blush just a little, but only when his partner’s blue-grey eyes widened in pleasant surprise.  The wolfish grin that followed certainly didn’t hurt either.  Hell.  Greg felt his own cheeks color slightly just from having the idea discussed in front of him, though it deepened significantly as Sherlock spoke again.

“I told him that your stamina was nothing to be scoffed at.  And your tongue, while gruff at the best of times, was rather talented in coaxing all manner of responses out of an unsuspecting body.  We then exchanged some notes on technique, and I have to admit that we’re at an impasse.”

“So, if you two gentlemen wouldn’t mind?”  The suited young man’s voice was soft, but not at all shy as he picked up Sherlock’s lead.  “I’ve got a timepiece, if you’d be so kind as to pop off to the loo and make it official?”  Oh, fuck.  The lilt in the younger stranger’s voice turned Greg’s knees to water.  What the fuck was it about Welsh vowels that was so inherently fucking sexy?  So.  One cocky American, one impeccably dressed Welshman, and one infuriating Brit all conspired to get Greg Lestrade on his knees in the back of a pub loo.  It sounded like the beginnings of a very dirty joke.  Watching the appreciatively hungry expression on the stranger in the greatcoat as his younger counterpart stepped forward, the DI began to suspect that while not quite a joke his evening was going to live up to at least the ‘dirty’ part of that assessment.

Lestrade’s mouth went a bit dry as slim fingers unhooked a pocket watch from underneath a dark suit jacket, and Greg caught a flash of waistcoat before the man buttoned himself back up again.  From the looks of Sherlock’s pupils, both the quality of his voice and the manner of his dress did not go unappreciated.  As the younger stranger slid the watch to his partner, the American next to Greg let his other hand wander to the back of the DI’s neck.  An appreciative shudder shook his shoulders as the man’s thumb traced gently along the ridges of his vertebrae.  Fuck, he was completely outnumbered.  Three gorgeous blokes and they all seemed intent on this happening.  The idea sent a low, thrumming pulse through Greg’s abdomen, causing his cock to start to stiffen in anticipation.

“It seems that our respective partners will have no trouble busying themselves while we go settle this bet for them,” the American purred in his ear as Sherlock and the younger stranger eyed them both appreciatively.  “So if you’re not terribly opposed, I think I’d like to drag you to the back of the pub, tear your pants off, and give besting you shot.  Whaddya say?”

All Greg could do was choke out what he hoped passed for an affirmative.  It was evidently good enough, because his seatmate rose, snagged the sleeve of Lestrade’s leather jacket, and tugged him to his feet.  A quick glance back at Sherlock saw the tall detective taking the smaller stranger by the hand as they started talking quickly to each other in hushed tones.  The symphony of their voices faded as they walked towards a booth in the back, Sherlock’s deep baritone perfectly complimenting the only slightly less deep voice of the smaller man.  Evidently impatient, or perhaps just eager, Greg found himself being tugged towards the pub loo by the American, who was pulling him along with surprising strength and enthusiasm.  Fuck.  they really weren’t kidding.  The thought made his cock throb, and by the time that the American pushed him forcibly through the loo doors into a stall the DI found himself already half hard.

“Given that there was a bit of a misunderstanding at the beginning, what do you say I make it up to you by going first?”  The innuendo in the stranger’s voice was as rich as sin.  Lestrade gave a shudder as the words rushed straight to his abdomen, pooling warm and low at the very base of his groin.  

“If you like.”  The response was overly polite, for sure, but Greg was just a touch too British for his own good sometimes.  Fortunately the stranger didn’t seem to mind.  Instead he smiled that damnably cocky smile of his as he let the heel of his palm drag across the quickly filling bulge at the front of Greg’s trousers.  All the DI could do was offer a delicious little moan as he let the stranger maneuver them both into a stall.

Fuck.  Fuck.  This was ridiculous.  Pub sex with a complete stranger, and an American to boot.  While they timed each other’s cocksucking skills.  For their boyfriend’s amusement.  Briefly, Lestrade spared a moment to wonder what the forfeits for each man were.  The thought only served to make his rapidly filling cock give an interested twitch .  Knowing Sherlock it was something utterly filthy, and well...  For all his prim appearance the smaller stranger didn’t exactly seem to be prudish either.  

Seemingly unsatisfied by Greg’s lack of speed, the American pressed up against him, his tongue licking Lestrade’s mouth open as his body maneuvered the DI up against the wall.  The very last dregs of Greg’s rational thought fled as the man plundered his mouth in a messy, hot kiss.  Enthusiasm radiated off the other man, his interest evident in the way his mouth and tongue moved against Lestrade’s, to the way his thigh slotted easily in between Lestrade’s legs, to the delicious feel of those large hands settled on his waist.  A slow roll of his hips and the American had Greg all but gasping for breath as what little blood remained free flowing immediately rushed to his cock.

“So, tell me Detective Inspector,” the American purred, pulling away just far enough that he could work at Greg’s belt buckle.  The DI’s mind gave a small start.  Where did...  right.  Sherlock had mentioned it earlier.  God.  It sounded filthy enough when the towering git mentioned his rank during sex.  But to hear this stranger say it?  This man whose name he didn’t even know?  It sent sparks skittering down each of Lestrade’s nerves, causing him to feel like a teenager in much the same way he did when he and Sherlock first got together those few fated months ago.

“Does that rank come with handcuffs?”  Another wolfish, sparkling grin let Greg know exactly what the man thought of that idea.

“Standard police issue.  No safety release.”  Was it his imagination, or did Greg feel the stranger shudder slightly against him?

“Maybe later, Officer.  After all, I’m about to engage in a lewd and licentious act in public.  That’s certainly worth a good arrest, don’t you think?”

Finished with his belt and the teasing banter, he stranger’s large, strong hands worked at Greg’s zip with a rare combination of both enthusiasm and dexterity.  If the man could move his tongue with half that much skill...  The thought was abruptly cut off as the American’s hand freed his length from his briefs.  Lestrade bit back a moan as the stranger curled his fingers around his length, giving a few short, fast strokes before gazing appreciatively down at his prize.

“That’s a very nice cock you’ve got there, Detective.  I wonder if it tastes as nice as it feels.  Mind if I find out?”  Again, with that cocky fucking smile.  Someone needed to knock the bastard down a few pegs, that was for sure.  Though it could wait for the moment, especially if the man was going to keep stroking Lestrade’s cock like that as he smiled that toothy ‘fuck me’ grin of his.  Hell.  Even Greg couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t attracted to that insane level of confidence.  Sherlock really had ruined him.  Never exactly a simple thing, Greg’s sexuality had gone from ‘all inclusive’ to ‘smug arseholes in long coats’ in the blink of an eye.

“Nnnh.  Please fucking do.”  A warm chuckle was Greg’s response, the stranger’s chest vibrating against his own before the man slid gracefully down onto his knees, the grey wool of his coat pooling around him as he gazed up with smoldering stormy blue eyes.  Lestrade let the wall take his weight, fully aware that it was a matter of seconds before his brain stopped functioning well enough to remember to hold him upright.

The American grasped the base of Greg’s cock as he guided the head into his mouth, giving an appreciative little hum as he let the weight of it sit on his tongue for a second before pulling back and tracing his tongue around the exposed, leaking slit.  

In the brief second before coherency entirely fled him, Lestrade (not for the first time) wondered exactly how it was he ended up with a sinfully tight pair of lips wrapped around his cock in the loo at his favorite pub.  It was a rhetorical question, though.  Because it was the coat.  Fuck.  It was always the coat.  And this bastard?  Well, he was no exception.  May as well put it to good use.

Lestrade wound his work-roughened fingers in the fine wool collar and yanked hard, using the grip to steer his partner's movements.  Unsurprisingly, the smarmy bastard grinned in response.  A few rough thrusts using that damned coat collar to steer was all it took to get the kneeling stranger to refocus his efforts.  The man swallowed Lestrade's cock further down his throat that Greg had ever thought possible, sucking enthusiastically as he tongued the underside of the DI’s cock while still managing to bob up and down to provide some friction.  The feel of it was beyond belief.  Beyond expectation.  Beyond what seemed humanly possible, almost.  What, did the man not need air?  The way he positively devoured Lestrade’s cock without stopping to breathe certainly made it seem so.

A soft wet sound was the only noise in the room as the American let Greg’s cock slide from his mouth.  Lestrade could barely breathe for the anticipation of the man’s next move, every cell in his body aching to bury his length back in that wet,  velvety heat.  Instead, the stranger’s clever tongue licked a wet stripe up the sensitive underside of Lestrade’s shaft, stopping at the ridge just underneath the head.  With another one of his trademarked smirks, he delicately drew the tip of his tongue to a point, flicking it along Greg’s glans before moving further upward to rake the full flesh of his tongue across the slit at the very tip.  The American gathered the moisture there and rolled his head back on his shoulders, making an excellent show of exactly how much he enjoyed the taste.  A low moan escaped through Lestrade’s parted lips as he watched the man taste him; tongue that had previously been servicing Lestrade running over full lips as if he were desperate to savor every last remaining particle of precome gathered there.

“I hope you don’t mind losing,” he said with smirk, casting another smug glance up at Greg through long, dark lashes as he gave a few playful licks along the sensitive ridge   “If it’s any consolation I promise to make the loss quite enjoyable.”  His voice was soft and low, words barely above a sultry whisper.  Once again bowing his head, the stranger brought his lips level with the crown of Lestrade's cock.  The American pressed his mouth against the very tip as he continued to whisper, each low, half-growled word sending exquisite vibrations coursing along Greg’s shaft.  Then, nothing but slick, wet sounds filled the room as the American slid his lips back around Lestrade’s cockhead, smoothly taking him to the root as he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard.

Greg had intended on giving the man a proper answer, or at least close to one,  With that kind of heat and pressure surrounding him, though, all the DI could muster was a groan as his fingers scrabbled against the cool tile of the wall behind him.  After all the frustration of the day coupled with the teasing lead up made for a rather short fuse, and from the sweet, heavy pulse that rolled through him with every movement of the American’s lips  Greg knew it wouldn’t be long before he finished.  Finished, and earned himself and probably Sherlock a rather messy if exquisite failure to win their bet.  A pleasantly hot, heavy sensation flooded his abdomen, causing the DI's balls to draw up tight as his orgasm started to crest.  

"Mmnnh...  Fuck...  I-I'm..." Before he could finish either the sentence or his spiral into mindless bliss the man groaned hungrily around him.  That was all it took; the added vibration shot heated sparks along his spine, and with a single strangled groan Greg emptied himself into that immeasurably skilled mouth.  The stranger didn't gag at all as Lestrade flooded his throat; the bastard simply swallowed as if it were as easy as breathing.  He carefully the DI clean as Greg shuddered his way through the aftershocks.  Lestrade simply braced himself against the wall, his hands still reflexively tightened around the man's coat collar.  

After a moment where Greg was aware of nothing but the floating, blissful feeling that lingered after his orgasm, he felt the stranger rise and press against against his chest.  Suddenly the enticingly full lips that had drawn him back into the loo pressed against his.  The kiss was hot, hungry, and almost intimate as the man raised one large hand to cup the side of Lestrade's face.  A lingering taste of his own fluids reminded Greg that he still had a chance to show the cocky bastard up.  

"Better restart that watch.  It’s your turn now," Lestrade all but growled as the man pulled away, punctuating his intent with a light nip to the stranger's lower lip.  God, he was even more gorgeous than Greg remembered; spiky brown hair in disarray, lips swollen from the vigorous face fucking that he'd just enthusiastically received.  And that coat.  That fucking coat.  Jesus, Sherlock had ruined him to outerwear completely.  Another tug on the lapels maneuvered the American against the wall.  The man merely chuckled in response as Greg’s hands flew to his belt.

"Eager much?" was the reply, though the DI managed to silence any further repartee with a rough palming of the man's length through his navy trousers.  

"For your name, maybe," came Greg's reply.  After all, the American wasn’t the only smartarse in the room.  Not by a long shot.

"Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."  The man's voice was rich with suggestion, somehow making what should have been a simple introduction soaked with innuendo.  Well, perhaps part of the innuendo was the fact that he’d just sucked Greg to one of the more notable orgasms of his life, while being timed, no less.  The thought of the well dressed younger man’s stopwatch spurred Lestrade on.   After all, he wasn’t exactly a novice when it came to sucking cock.  There was still a chance he could coax a win out of his rather dashing partner.

"Captain Harkness, eh?  Well, 'Captain'," Greg used the title a bit jokingly - the man looked far too young to have achieved the rank.  "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."  Shaky with post orgasm endorphins, Lestrade sank to his knees and quickly undid Jack's belt and trousers, freeing a rather impressive cock.  “And a pleasure to meet you too,” he murmured, planting a single, open-mouthed kiss against the thick vein running along the underside.  Jack moaned in response, one hand moving automatically to the top of Greg’s head.  Not pushing, just applying gentle strokes of his fingers to the DI’s scalp.

As Jack ran one large hand through Greg's short silver hair, the DI flicked his tongue out over the leaking head of the man's cock.  His taste was quite unlike any other person Greg had ever tasted, in a pub loo or otherwise.  Heavy, but more sweet than bitter, with just a hint of salt.  Fuck, it tasted incredible.  Combined with the way the man smelled, it had Lestrade feeling rather drunk despite the modest two pints he'd consumed before running into the rakishly handsome 'Captain' Jack.  The man was dangerously intoxicating, and all Greg could do was move in for another taste.

Lestrade lapped eagerly at the slit at the tip of Jack's length, coating his tongue in that exquisite, almost addictive flavor before swallowing him down as far as he could go.  Broad fingers made up the scant bit of difference between Greg's lips and the base of Jack's cock.  The DI squeezed gently in opposite time with his long, sucking strokes, smiling to himself as the other man shuddered and groaned at the sensation.  

"God, your mouth is perfect," he murmured breathlessly as Greg continued his steady rhythm.  Between that tone of voice, the feel of his hands in his hair and Jack's rich, heady scent, Greg felt a pulse of need flutter through him.  Not enough to get him up again, for sure.  He wasn't a teenager anymore.  But it was enough that he gave a few appreciative groans around Jack's cock.  His reward was the tightening of that large hand in his hair, and a stuttered warning about how close the Captain was.  Not that Greg needed it.  He could all but feel the man throb against his tongue.  

A final moan from Greg was all it took to tip Jack over the edge.  Smug satisfaction filled him along with the man's come.  After milking the Captain through his orgasm, Lestrade pulled himself to his feet, noting the state of his jeans with a bit of a grin.  God, Sherlock was never going to let him hear the end of this.  Pausing to straighten his old, beaten up leather, Greg looked Jack directly in his stormy blue eyes.  The DI cocked a silver brow and grinned as he checked his loaned stopwatch.

"It seems we made about even time there, Captain."  Fuck.  How was it that he'd just gotten his cock sucked not but five minutes ago and he was damn near ready for another round?  Greg was entirely unsure, but was also quite certain that he didn't care.  

"I think we're in need of a rematch, then.  Want to head back to mine?"  Jack offered with a smile and a sinful little wink.  Greg thanked every god he could think of he had the next day off.  

"Absolutely.  And that sharp dressed bloke you're with, he won't mind, will he?" Jack gave a wolfish grin before he answered.  

"I doubt it.  He did encourage you after all.  Ianto doesn't loan that stopwatch to just anyone." Jack's long fingers retrieved the watch from Greg's grip, easily sliding it into an inside pocket on his greatcoat.  "Besides.  I think he's got a bit of a crush on that tall friend of yours.  We should return this so they can make use of it.  And they say two's company, three's a crowd, and four is a party 51st century style."

Jack leaned in close, letting his lips brush against the shell of Lestrade's ear as he lowered his voice to a growl.  "So, Detective Inspector.  Feel like having a party?"  The idea of Jack using the sharp dressed young man's crimson tie as a lead, the cocky smile that would be on the Captain's lips as he used that lead to direct how his partner (Ianto, Greg's mind helpfully reminded him) as he sucked Sherlock's cock sealed the deal.  

"Fuck yes," was all Lestrade could manage as an answer.  Within seconds, they were out the door of the bathroom.  They made it about two steps outside before they stumbled upon their respective partners in the hallway.  Sherlock's coat had all but engulfed Ianto.  The smaller man made soft, needy sounds as the consulting detective worked a nice bruise onto the side of his throat.  Ah, another coat fanatic.  Lestrade suspected he and this Ianto boy would have plenty to discuss.  Preferably while Jack and Sherlock did filthy things to each other.  Upon noticing their partners' arrival, Sherlock and Ianto broke apart.  

"It's about time," the curly haired man growled impatiently.  Jack's Ianto simply blushed, though the look he cast up at the Captain was nothing short of smoldering.  Fuck, but Greg bet they looked good together.  It was something he was more than eager to find out.  An image of Sherlock on his hands and knees, struggling to stay upright as Jack pounded him from behind and Ianto fucked his throat made a heated flush spread through the DI’s whole body.  Fuck.  He was going to need more than one day off to take care of all the scenarios that were popping into his head.  

It was easy enough to imagine; Sherlock and Ianto making out as Ianto bounced eagerly on Jack’s cock, while Greg pushed into Sherlock from behind.  Jack, on his back with his hands cuffed over his head, his legs thrown over Sherlock’s shoulders as the detective buried his tongue deep in the man’s arse while Ianto kneeled on either side of his shoulders, pushing his cock down the american’s throat.  Ianto, gagged with his crimson tie, tied spread eagle to the bed as all three of them sought out every sensitive strip of ivory flesh, reducing the poor man to nothing but a litany of needy noises and obscene moans thick with Welsh vowels.  Sherlock, as always read his mind, and if anything became just a hair more impatient than he had been a moment before.

"Lestrade, we have need of the back of your squad car.  And your flat if we can make it that far.  Now quit dawdling and let's go." Sherlock all but swooped out, his impatience evident in the rather tented appearance of his trousers before the sight disappeared in a swirl of dark wool coat.  With a single, suggestive glance back at Jack, Ianto followed out the back door of the pub.  Eyeing the remaining man suggestively, Lestrade gave the Captain a quick grin, which Jack answered with an unexpected, heated kiss.  

"Fuck, I love London!" Jack exclaimed before pulling away from Greg, rich laughter echoing behind him as he he bolted out the door. 

"Me too, mate." Greg answered as he slid out the exit as well, following two billowing coats and one fine suit off into the distance.  "Me fucking too."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the glorious TaylorPotato. Who, if you haven't read their works, go do so now. A cornucopia of porn awaits you. A pornocopia, even. Seriously amazing porn. Go. Now.
> 
> As for this fic: It's unbetaed, un brit-picked, and written on an hour and a half of sleep on New Years day. When you find the errors please do let me know so I can fix them. <3 And someday, somehow, I'm sure I'll end up writing the rest of the boys' evening. Because holy fuck the world needs more Sherlock on Ianto on Jack on Greg action amirite?


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